Come.

There are so many of us out there
Dying.. for you all to see these things that come from our souls
The things our hands have done.

Look at the lives we live
Know who we are and what we can further evolve to become.

We're dying..
A little bit more with each piece
..the pieces of us.

We create the mirrors of today
Enter them.

We have something good to die for.
That makes it beautiful to live.

Art is just the word for it
..but the life it brings to this place is unspeakable.

Let us show you.




6/9/10 s.g.c.

to be or not to be? is it even a question?

i'm standing still on a continuous conveyor belt that dumps me into the same basket and recycles me to be just be in the same place before i know it..
my resume includes failed attempts at any changes to the routine..
and i always ask myself the same questions..

what is it about being a human that just makes you insatiable?
never satisfied with what you do have and obsessed with what you dont?
never alright with the ordinary and lust after the outstanding?
you can never fill that void thats existed within since birth.

why is simplicity obsolete?
its all so complicated.

we always need to find the deeper meanings in things and find the answers and prepare ahead of time but what good is any of that if acceptance is out of the question..?
when its all within reach but not in your hands?
when you figure out what your necessities for happiness in life are and you realize that you still cant survive with those in the "real" world?
what does someone do when those simplicities seem idealistic and romantic even..
..a fairy tale.
wouldn't it be great if fiction wasn't what it just simply and literally is?

you live your lives with an almost obsessive compulsive complexity preparing for the future when you forget what spontaneity defines;
the adrenaline that used to run through your veins when you fought for something you believed in..
the endorphins that used to be released into your body and you felt your face stretch a little and smile when the person you love (and loves you back) walked right up to you and did nothing but look at you to instantly let you forget your shitty day.. week.. month.. year.. life..

your very blood runs thin these days due to your recent habit of living..

you're sick of being a philosopher in a world of businessmen..
you detest the simple fact that you coexist all together in the most wonderfully tainted neverending heirarchy of a world..
and that you are one of the very few of the wisdom-damned people wherever you go..
you can't do shit about that either..

primitive is a word that seems a little too intriguing..
it feels only right to want to be more primitive in a world where humanity is being replaced with technology..
who else in the world agrees besides those who are shunned for turning out to be someone else than you expected?
expect the unexpected and you can never be too dissappointed.

accept that people think and act differently, let alone freely.
so maybe i should just move this once..
off of this conveyor belt runnin on that chain..
onto a new level of existence.

jan30flyer

jan30flyer
Originally uploaded by Mercury Soapbox

whoop whoop!

my english paper on using only words with one syllable.

Ink

By Seanne Catedral

Ink is the blood of all art that I make. Ink is what I think of when I see a blank space. When I see a wall that is free, not used for what it’s worth, I think of the drips of ink that I would bomb there to stain it for as long as that wall lives. All thoughts, schemes, plans of what could be, drown me from the rest of what is real. The dreams and thoughts of all these works of art in my head that state my state of mind need to leave me and be placed on all blank space.

I want to catch a tag on all free walls in the world. Give men a gift of deep thought with what comes straight from my mind, through the rest of me and out of my hands. I want to blow your minds, stir your thoughts, and take your breaths. I want to stun you, touch you, bend you, grip you, and shake you. I see the blends of black, white, red, green, blue, and more all in tune as one to please the eye. Lights and darks meet and rare shades are made. To think of all the far-out, mean, and grand things that I’ve seen; it all strikes me and calls me to speak out to change the world in at least one way.

The way that I speak of is art… real art. The kind that moves you to the core so you feel it in your gut. The kind that grabs you by the arms and shakes you ‘til you can’t take it for one more half-ounce of time. The kind that you fall in love with and then breaks your heart, just to come back for more due to your real need of it. The kind that you write a song for and, once done, play out for the rest of the day so that you’re not the lone one to know all the words. The kind that drives you up the wall. The kind that screams to be passed, spread, and to take in deep. Like the word that you heard from a small bird that makes you squeal and you can’t stay still in your seat. These thoughts are what make me. It is in the blood in my veins like the ink that is the blood of each piece.

i just wanna live man.

the man is bringin me down everywhere i go.

Indigo Children

So here I am listening to "Indigo Children" by Puscifer (amazing personal music project led by Tool's Maynard James Keenan) and it hit something in the core of me. Every beat.. every word heard and every sound meshed so well together. I googled "indigo children" so I could find out every bit of it and came across a beautiful topic.

Indigo Children.
Believed to represent a higher state of human evolution. Distinguished by more conventional traits such as empathy and creativity. The term itself is referenced to the belief that such people have an indigo aura. A rare color of aura found in people only 60% of the time between the ages of 14-25. And more likely found in children under 10. Indigo children are highly sensitive with a clear sense of self-definition and a strong feeling that they need to make a significant difference in the world. They are strong-willed, independent thinkers who prefer to do their own thing rather than comply with authority figures. They are empathic and can easily detect or are in tune with the thoughts of others, and are naturally drawn to matters concerning mysteries, spirituality, the paranormal and the occult, while opposing unquestioned authority and contradictory to convention. They tend to think outside the box, and are often referred to as "system busters." Indigos allegedly possess wisdom and level of awareness "beyond their years." They are also said to have a strong feeling of entitlement, or "deserving to be here." Indigo children also possess defining characteristics in learning; indigos tend to be more visual, kinesthetic learners so remember best what they can picture in their brain and create with their hands. Movement is required to keep them better focused.

This concept intrigues me beyond measure. And the fact that it speaks so me in such a hard hitting fashion makes me think :

There are people out here in this mess of a world that are in tune with not just themselves as beings... but with all surroundings; truly caring for the quality of life on this planet whether it be nature or for all animal kind - humans especially. A people where there is such a strong connection to the earth, its own good, and true need to make it a better place. It is almost a necessity to impact this planet in a distinct and defining way. Don't we all want that? I know I do. I always think to myself, at least when it comes to my art... that not just me alone - but us - this whole new generation, indigo or not, can make a difference. We can make the difference that the past generations have tried to make with great effort but ultimately failed to do. We can get back to our roots as humans. As beings on a beautiful planet where there already is appreciation for the more beautiful things that we contain within ourselves and also have surrounding us. We - as a new generation - can lead all the rest of us humans into that state. People in older ages knew what was good for the earth and it's inhabitants. We've polluted it, and even though I love my grimey dirty New York City... it is not what life should be like here... anywhere. I'm not saying hey - let's, as a whole generation, go naturalist and hippie-fy the world... but they had the right idea. We can make a difference - through our music, through our art, through our minds and the intellect that we were all given as rare gifts making us as beings so superior. It's fucking up to us.

here are the lyrics to "Indigo Children" by Puscifer.

E.M.P. from the mother and son
tore the digital down
dawn of the age of the innocent ones

the indigo children
the indigo children come
the indigo children
the indigo children come
the indigo children
the indigo children come
the indigo children
the indigo children come
the indigo children
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come


E.M.P. from the mother and son
tore the digital down
dawn of the age of the innocent ones

the indigo children

analog time piece sky wide
sync to the ticker inside
move to the rhythm of the moon and tide

the indigo children
the indigo children
the indigo children
the indigo children

Sirius, Venus. and the lunar child
(get your life up untied)
giggle and the flames grow higher
dance in a circle around a central fire
(dance and laugh and love and learn. Grow higher)

the indigo children

wine, song, food and fire
clothe, shelter and seed

no more need for the old empire
when the indigo children come

Sirius, Venus, and the lunar child
giggle and the flames grow higher
dance in a circle around a central fire

the indigo children

wine, song, food and fire
clothe, shelter and seed

no more need for the old empire(fare thee well to the empire)
when the indigo children come

the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
when the indigo children come
the indigo children
the indigo children

Sirius, Venus, and the lunar child
giggle and the flames grow higher
dance in a circle around a central fire

when the indigo children come

wine, song, food and fire
clothe, shelter and seed

no more need for the old empire
when the indigo children come

the indigo children come x13
the indigo children x13

it's beautiful. i'm going to make a piece for it.

mr. no name.

I don’t even know his name, but he’s always around. I see him routinely chain smoking his cigarettes while walking his wiener dog around the block. In the hotter months, his unbuttoned button down reveals a beer belly unable to breathe straining underneath a sweat stained wife beater. In the cooler months, it’s the same outfit, only a faded black leather jacket serves as the top layer. He has a tattoo on his arm but it’s so faded I’ve never been able to tell what exactly it is of. His sepia faded bifocal aviators hide his eyes, and a gold diamond studded Yankees chain hangs on his wrinkled, sun spotted skin. His hair has a salt and pepper mix of color, grown out yet balding at the top creating an awkward crown.

If he isn’t asking someone how they’re doing, about whatever game is on, or how they’re day is, he simply walks some more with his dog until his next opportunity to ask someone, or even anyone, comes.

Every exchange of words I’ve had with him has been short but straight to the point, sort of business like. He asks me how I’m doing every time we cross paths. I’m always okay or doing fine and it’s always the same but it’s good enough for him. He on the other hand, never answers with his voice, but with a strong nod of the head or a smile that ripples the meeting place of his mouth and cheeks. Once he receives confirmation of my understanding that he’s alright as well, our paths separate once again and he carries on as usual.

Every now and then, I sit on my stoop to smoke a few cigarettes and as the time passes I’d see him circle the block at least twice. I wonder about his life… if he has a wife and children or if that little wiener dog is his family. If he truthfully is happy when he says he is or if he just says it to say it. I question his purpose in needing to know how everyone is… if it’s because he’s lonely or just a genuinely nice person. If it is the latter, then I wonder how the world would be if there were more people like him; people who would be outside to be outside, and bring a little funny shaped companion along the way. People who simply wanted to know if those surrounding them at the moment were content; if life is good.

I also wonder if all those deep wrinkles were not just of age but from years of experiencing life lessons the hard way, giving him wisdom beyond his age. If he smokes so many cigarettes, killing possibly two packs a day, from anxiety or even from asking himself all these questions. I wonder how his skin became so blotchy, and in turn making me fear a human’s natural and slow decomposition. Why it seems as though he never works but looks over worked. Why he has so much energy to walk around all day and yet he seems a tired man.

I remember having half a cigarette with him once and not even noticing I smoked that half. I was too deep in my thoughts while paying attention to him talking about me being a Mets fan. Even though it was amusing to have baseball talk with the opposing New York team’s biggest fan, I couldn’t help but wonder about who he is or was; if he was a dashing young man or not. I can picture him being a not so attractive man yet having an intriguing stature and presence. I can see him being even younger and falling in love with being outside all the time, playing in New York City parks with his friends. I can imagine him having a canine companion his whole life and maybe that is why he chooses to be outside with his dog twenty four seven.

Maybe it’s just my need to find a deeper meaning in things but he just seems so mysterious and yet, it could all be so simple. This man who’s name is unknown could simply be an older gentleman who’s experienced all the excitement in life already and has diverted to a life more simple; a life where contentment is defined in slowly traversing up, down, and around a block’s radius with his best friend; a man who knows how he wants to spend his remaining years in a permanent state of relaxation. He could be a man who wants life to be good and to know that he is not the only one around who feels the same way. He is a man who, in his character, has much more depth than his sepia faded bifocal aviators.